Road of Life (10)
by lone astronomer
Summary: New chapter (Past Spectres) is the last chapter- the resolution of a few things and a couple more interesting aspects of James' life as Minister of Magic... lots of fluff, too.
1. Saying Goodbye

The Road of Life- Saying Goodbye

lone astronomer

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Stuff I do not own (commonly known as a disclaimer): James, Hogwarts, Lily, Allya, Mioré, Sirius, Harry, Clara, Cornelius Fudge, Vera, Fox, Sierra, Remus ::sniff, sniff:: the Ministry of Magic, Britain, Germany, France, a car, Clara's husband Michael, a picture of Draco in leather (Sirius I have, Draco, sadly not)… 

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Person that stuff belongs to: It's either unclaimed, the UN's, or J. K. Rowling's.

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What is mine: Remus' immortal soul, Sirius' ex-motorcycle Nova, and the keyboard and notepad I am writing this on. If you want a character, kindly ask to borrow him or her.

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Archive: Anywhere and everywhere (for any piece of fiction from me), as long as this little spiel gets to stay here and I'm notified about it.

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Note from the esteemed author: Guess what? This is basically a prelude of what's to come. I hate to leave you guys with one of those, but that's how it's gotta be. Sorry. The beginning's a bit rocky; it had to be that way, too. And we skip over_ a lot_ of time. It's necessary, okay?

* * *

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Saying goodbye

Going away

Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say

Touching your hand

Wondering why

It's time for saying goodbye

_Saying goodbye_

Why is it sad?

Makes us remember the good times we've had

Much more to say

Foolish to try

It's time for saying goodbye…

-The Muppets, _Saying Goodbye_

* * * 

"You know it'll be good for Harry," he said astutely, emotionlessly, facing his best friend in the world and wondering why things could never be the same.

__

She's gone, James.

"Yeah," Sirius answered, in the same neutral tone. "I guess I do."

"And you know it's too painful here. And that I have to go."

"Stay," Sirius said, pleaded, and Remus' expression agreed.

"I can't," James said. "My new job starts in a week- the British ambassador to the German Ministry can't be late for work, now can he?"

Harry didn't say a word. It didn't seem as if he knew how- everything he'd learned had been all a-jumble of late. 

"Goodbye, James," Allya said quietly, lips a thin line, eyes closed. Vera, on the floor at her feet whined softly. Fox picked up on it; he whimpered a bit, too. Sierra, asleep in the next room over, said nothing, but turned restlessly in her sleep, as if she knew something was drastically wrong.

"Goodbye, Allya," James answered her stiffly, formally, hefting a suitcase in each hand. A horn blared outside. "That'll be the taxi. Can't Apparate with Harry, you know," he said, trying to be strong. "Goodbye, Moony, Padfoot, Mioré." He lowered his head to look at Vera and Fox, and also to let out a single tear that had been threatening to show itself to his friends. If they saw, he knew, he wouldn't be able to leave. "Bye, you two."

Vera clung to Allya's robes, and more tears fell from her mother's eyes. Fox stood a bit shakily, using James' cloak to steady himself, and tried feebly to hold him back.

Remus, biting his lip, pulled his son into his arms and watched his friend walk out the door.

Hillside Manor had never seen such a flood of tears, nor would it ever again. To lose first Lily and Morgana, then James and Harry a month later, and three days before Christmas, at that, was too much for what was left of the Marauders.

__

Merry, merry Christmas

And a Happy New Year

We hope it's a good one

With nothing to fear…

Merry Christmas,

War is over…

"But at what cost?!" Sirius yelled at the Muggle tape deck. "At what cost?! Lily and Morgana are _dead,_ you stupid …" he checked the label, "Beatles. And James and Harry are _gone_-"

"Not such a merry Christmas," Allya agreed gloomily, adding another ornament to the tree. _Baby's first Christmas_. That one was for Morgana, before she'd… Allya didn't want to think about it anymore.

"We'll have to make the best of it, I suppose," Mioré commented, hanging her own ornaments on the tree. Sierra's, Vera's, and Fox's first Christmas ornaments from the year before hung rather forlornly on the tree. The tea-light charm Remus had done wasn't as good as the ones Lily used to do- but it was beautiful nonetheless.

"Perhaps we need a bit of our own music," Remus said, turning off the Muggle device that tended to remind him of Lily a bit too much. 

"What we need is eggnog," Sirius grumbled as Allya went to sit at the piano and Remus Summoned his violin. 

"I'm with you all the way, Sirius," Mioré said.

"I know."

Sirius conjured the eggnog, and the two of them sat on the floor beside the piano, listening to the haunting (and slightly off-key) duet play and waiting for the sweet darkness of intoxication to come over him.

Allya banged her head on the keys. "Does anybody actually want to wait until tomorrow to open the gifts? It's not as if we have anything better to do."

"When depressed, open presents," Remus said philosophically. "Always cheers _me_ up," he added cynically in a dark mutter. "Right. We did send that one gift to Harry, didn't we hon?"

Allya nodded. "And we did mention in the letter that he shouldn't let his dad see it…" Harry, however, wasn't quite three years old, and it was unlikely that the speaking parchment they'd charmed and sent along with the gift had any effect on him. On the other hand…

Somewhere in Germany, what was left of the Potter family were sharing a very quiet Christmas. "What's that, Harry?" James asked tiredly, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Can't tell," Harry answered, and ran away with his gift to his room. He hid it under his mattress, and that was where it stayed for nearly five years, until he deemed it safe to bring it out.

* * *

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Time passes slowly when it's the end of your world…

* * *

"Your hair's a mess, Harry," the painting told him, scowling. For a five-year-old, Harry thought, she sure had attitude. 

"I know. Did you notice yours is the same way?" he asked, planting his hands on his hips.

The girl in the painting deepened her scowl. "It was painted that way," she insisted, tossing her head. Hazel eyes watched his every move. "What're you doing, anyway? You haven't spent this much time in your room since you accidentally set all of the gardener snakes in the neighborhood on Lukas from next door."

"Packing," Harry answered absently, shoving some more junk into a box. A picture of him with his father when he was four fell off the dresser and cracked. "_Scheib e_."

"Harold James Potter!" the picture shouted at him. "Watch your language. You're only eight, after all."

"It's not my fault Lukas' swearing rubbed off," Harry muttered crossly, dusting off the frame and packing it anyway. "Well, I reckon that's all of it. 'Cept you, that is, Morgana."

"You're not putting me in there," she objected, making a placating gesture with her hands. "No way. I'm fine out here in the light, as it is, thanks."

"I'm not _leaving_ you here," Harry insisted, and shoved her on top of the pile. "Come on. I promise I'll unpack you first."

__

Great, Morgana thought. _How many boys actually get to pack their little sisters away and ship them off?_ "Fine," she acquiesced, "But I'll be ornery if you don't get me out of here soon."

Harry's brow wrinkled. _Quite the vocabulary, too_. "What's ornery mean?"

"Never mind."

"Well, sir, we need you here for the election," the office secretary's head portrayed her nervousness. "Er- a couple Unmentionables and some people in the office called for a vote of no-confidence in Minister Fudge, and we're having another election."

"Great," James said, not really meaning it. "And I've got to move for that?"

"Sir, they're- they're reassigning you."

James' glasses slipped off of his nose; he barely caught them before they hit the floor. "They're _what_?"

"You heard me, sir. They want you in administration."

James made a noise of disgust. "Don't call me sir. Who's 'they'?"

She merely shrugged. "I'm not authorized to know, actually, but there's a rumor that it's Dumbledore, Longbottom and Crouch that are calling for you."

"Wonderful," James muttered. "Just- just _swell_."

"Sir?"

James glowered. 

She bit her lip. "Sorry. Er, Mr. Potter- I've been instructed to help you if I can."

"I feel old," James said to no one in particular. "Erm- sorry Miss…?"

"McTavish, sir. Clara McTavish."

"Well, Miss McTandra-"

"McTavish," Clara corrected.

"Clara," James said instead, "it's really been lovely talking to you, but my son and I have a bus to catch, so…"

"I understand, sir. Good journey."

"Yeah," James grumbled. "Jolly good journey indeed."

But the secretary was already gone.

"About time we sacked the old phony, too," Allya grumbled, throwing her rucksack onto the couch and collapsing in a chair. "Thinks he's the best thing since Quidditch."

Vera and Archer Fox rushed out from who-knew-where, Lupus tagging along behind them like an oversized devoted terrier. 

Remus agreed, scooping Vera into his arms and holding her upside-down, so that her already messy head of dark hair got even more tangled. "Hi, dad!"

Fox, too, soon found himself upside-down, suspended by his ankles and looking up, up, _up_ at his mother's face. "Hullo, Mum!" 

The door swung open, permitting a gust of very cold November air to permeate the room. "Sirius!" Allya yelled, "Close the door, we'll all catch pneumoni- I sound like your mother," she broke off and said to Remus. "Excuse me, I have to go wash my mouth out…"

Sirius' grin was indescribably large as he plunked himself down into a chair, the back door still wide open. "You'll never guess who got nominated for Minister today," he said as the children piled in his lap screaming, "_Uncle Sirius!_"

"Who?" Remus asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius' smile shrank somewhat as he recalled the past few years. "James Potter."

END OF PART ONE

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So, this is going to be a multiple-part series. This is, quite obviously, part one. Bet you're all loving the bit about the portrait of Morgana- she grows! But Harry doesn't know she's his sister. More on that next part- someone gets really, really pissed off at Jamie-boy. 

Ah yes- my challenging question: Which part of Rain, Replacements and Regrets happened to me. You're all wrong so far, actually- it's the roses. A very sweet someone grabbed them off the bushes at a mini-golf course for me this summer, tearing the flesh on his palms and afterwards being chased by the owner of the mini-golf establishment. I myself injured myself when I got them- darn thorns! 

This won't be done for a while, I'm warning you. This was barely a teaser! So I got it up fast, it was all written in one day, blah blah. Not a big deal. I'll be in Florida soon enough. Sunshine… ahh… Cape Coral, here I come!

Oh yeah, don't forget to review!


	2. Before the Storm

Road of Life: Promises Unkept

Lone astronomer

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Whose stuff this is: Not mine- J. K. R.'s. 

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Profit gained: None whatsoever.

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Archive: Anywhere and everywhere, as long as I'm notified and the disclaimer stays.

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Summary: Part two of _The Road of Life_. 

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What am I supposed to do

With all these blues

Haunting me

Everywhere no matter what I do

Watching the candle flicker out in the evening glow

I can't let go

When will this night be over

I didn't mean to fall 

In love with you

And baby there's a name for what you put me through

It isn't love

It's robbery

I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me

-BBMAK, _Ghost of You and Me_

* * *

Thomas and Clara McTavish had been voted World's Most Unusual Couple by their peers for six years running. They lived in a cozy house in Surrey with their pet owl, Fido, and an aging old cat called Rover. 

Tom was a prominent police officer and a volunteer fireman, with a long history of rugby injuries. His wife worked in an office, playing messenger on odd days when she had to fill in for Sandra Figg, who was sometimes ill, or her usual position as a secretary in the defense office. Tom knew, although many of their friends didn't, that Clara was not a mere mortal, but a witch. Perhaps this was why their friends thought them so odd.

"What is it?" Tom asked Clara one evening. She looked unusually tired and stressed, and Tom told her as much. "So what's eating you?"

"Mphwer fdgum arflms.," Clara grumbled into her arms, which her head was resting on. 

Tom waited patiently for clarification.

"A couple of troublesome higher-ups called a vote of no-confidence in Minister Fudge, and now we have to hold an election," she finally said. 

"I don't see what's so bad about that," Tom confessed. "Wasn't he an incompetent fool?"

Clara sighed. "You might say that, yes."

"So what's bothering you?" Tom asked again.

"Potter," Clara answered simply, looking down at the documents the Ministry had sent her with his name and face on them, "is being difficult."

"Are you going to run or not?" a very annoyed Mrs. McTavish asked a very frustrated James Potter.

"Yeah," he answered finally, brushing hair away from his eyes. "I'll run."

"Great," she said, relieved. "Your friends up in the Defense department should be happy to hear that. They've been pushing for you for years."

James looked up, confused, surprised, and bewildered. "They have?"

Clara nodded. "Black and Lupin, one of the Unmentionable units, four teams of Aurors, the head of the Preventative Charms committee, and half the Board of Education."

Potter sat heavily in a chair. "That many?" he asked.

"You didn't know?"

James shook his head. "I had no idea I was that popular. That's frightening."

__

I'll say. "You'll have to make a campaign speech, of course," she continued, marking off a list on her fingers. "And you'll need a publicity agent…"

"Speech?" James said, alarmed. "I'm no good at this politics stuff…"

"I beg to differ, Ambassador. Sign here."

James touched the tip of his wand to the parchment. "Validatus."

McTavish filed the contract in her folder. "That's it then, Mr. Potter, you may go."

"Is he coming for dinner then, Sirius?" Mioré asked, tapping her wand at the dishes in the sink.

"He and Harry are just getting settled- things are too chaotic for them to conjure their own meals," Sirius responded. "Yeah, they're coming. We're supposed to help them unpack afterwards."

"Well, he shouldn't have left," Mioré maintained. She'd never quite forgiven James for leaving her husband without a best friend for all those years. She thought for a moment, "Will Harry's English be good enough for Muggle grammar school?" she asked. "Lily would have wanted him to go."

"Who's Harry?" Sierra wanted to know. "And Lily?" She'd just come through the Blacks' back door, trailing the Lupin twins and their wolf behind her. "And why wouldn't he speak English?"

Sirius sighed. "It's a long story," he said.

Vera, making herself at home at the kitchen table, narrowed violet eyes. She thought perhaps that Uncle Sirius didn't _want_ to tell the tale. "So start at the beginning," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"And when you get to the end," Fox continued,

"Stop," all three chorused, grinning near-identical smiles.

__

Filch will weep, Sirius thought with a smirk.

Mioré shook her head. "Are you sure they're not related?"

"Do you think he still has her?" Remus asked after he'd tucked Vera and Fox into bed, both of whom protested vehemently that they were 'not sleepy.' 

"I should imagine so, after all the charms we put on her," Allya answered, mentally cursing the paperwork in front of her. "Be a shame if he hasn't."

Remus nodded. "Fine piece of work, she was. Does he know?"

Allya's forehead wrinkled. "He should," she answered. "But something tells me he doesn't."

"Is that the Diviner resurfacing?" Remus teased, peeking over her shoulder at the long, long list of preparations to be made. "Or just a harmless hunch?"

"Just a hunch," Allya answered, but added when he was out of range again, "I hope."

"Harry, you chipped the glass!"

He slung his rucksack over his shoulder and scowled, although she couldn't see it. "_I_ didn't chip it, Morg. Scheisse passiert."

"Harold James Potter! Watch your tongue!"

"Watch your own, Morgana," Harry said irritably, following his father through the immense crowd of people in Diagon Alley. "Any idea where we're going, by the way?"

"Not a clue," the parchment answered from her frame, trying unsuccessfully to smooth her tangled curls. "Although I've got a feeling it's something to do with that Black fellow he spoke with in the fireplace."

"Maybe," Harry answered, wondering suddenly why all the people were staring at him. _Maybe because you're talking to a piece of parchment?_ "Why're they all staring at us?" He stood on tiptoes, attempting to catch a glimpse of the back of James' head- he was farther ahead, trying to keep up with Arthur Weasley's long stride. 

"It's the scar, dear," Morgana answered, wishing that she could tell him the whole truth. "It has to be."

"Why, it's Harry Potter!" one of the tiniest wizards in the alley exclaimed. "Hello, boy!" he shouted, shaking Harry's hand so hard that his arm nearly flew out of its socket. "How are you this fine day?"

"I'm, I'm fine, thank you, sir," Harry managed to stutter before James marched back to rescue him from the crowd. "What was that all about?" he asked his father.

James' eyes looked away and studied the ground suspiciously. "Just a fluke, I'm sure. How would he know who you are, after all? Must be some sort of mind-reader."

Harry wondered, not for the first time, if his father was lying to him.

"Harry!" Uncle Sirius yelled, breaking free of James' man-hug and tossing his godson in the air, despite the fact that he was eight and a half years old. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you, and yourself?" Harry tried to reply to be polite (he didn't quite manage; there were too many other questions). Secretly, he thought his 'Uncle' was a bit insane. 

"What's that on your head?" Sierra Black wanted to know, leaning in for a better look.

"Do you have a sister?" Vera asked, not catching the adults' collective wince. She had a gift for asking awkward questions.

"How come you aren't fat from eating all that lederhosen?" Archer relieved the silence with laughter. "What's so funny about that?"

"Lederhosen… are pants, Fox," his mother explained, grinning. "Oh, bugger. You boys aren't tired yet, are you?" she asked, watching the looks on the nearly-identical-but-for-age faces.

"No," James began.

"Then let the fiesta begin," Mioré exclaimed. And it did.

"I'm going to kill James Potter," Clara McTavish announced to Tom. "And his famous son, too."

Tom looked confused. "His son's famous? And why kill him?"

Clara sighed in frustration. "It's a long story, but basically he brought down the Dark Lord pretty much by himself." Thomas' mouth formed a round little 'o'. "I'd never _really_ kill Harry Potter, of course, but James…" her voice trailed off. Spread around her in a messy pile were at least six different three-page-long interview requests, three from the most annoying reporter in all of history, Rita Skeeter. "Passed off our address as his own in one article in the Prophet, they did. And now…"

Tom surveyed the room appreciatively. "Quite the candidate," he said, hiding a grin.

Clara didn't even look up. "Quite," she muttered, and went back to her paperwork.

"He looks just like James," Mioré commented as Harry followed his father through the fireplace. "But he has his mother's eyes."

"It seems unusual that he wouldn't ask us about her," Sirius said. "I'd think the pain of her death would have faded some by now, if I hadn't known her myself." Lily's name was rarely spoken in the Lupin household. He sighed, dulling the throbbing ache in his heart somehow. "But he didn't, really. He was too young."

"And such a shame, too," Remus put in. "He also has her heart."

"Maybe James told him not to ask," Mioré continued, picking up the thread of conversation.

"Maybe," Allya said darkly, sipping her drink, "Maybe he doesn't know."

"What do you think of him?" Fox asked, settling in under the covers.

Vera Jean sighed somewhat dramatically. "I don't know what to think. He's awful quiet."

"Kinda like Sierra can get," Archer agreed, scratching at a scab that was nearly healed. "Almost a brooding kind of silence."

"Odd that they should be so quiet when their fathers are so outgoing," Vera mused, stretching her fingers out to the starry ceiling.

"Maybe he's got a troublesome secret," Archer Fox suggested, knitting his fingers together behind his head. He yawned then, rolling onto his side. "I'm going to sleep now- real tired. 'Night, sis."

"'Night, Fox," Vera replied, but he was already asleep.

END PART TWO

Okay, okay. Sorry this took so long. Florida was wonderful and I didn't get any writing done at all. So there. There will be a sequel to Chemical Reactions. I don't know when yet. I am now getting kicked off of the computer until I've done the homework for the four days I have missed. So sorry everyone, I'll try to be more punctual in the future. Really.


	3. Tragedy Strikes

The Road of Life: Tragic

lone astronomer

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling, no infringement intended, blah, blah, etc., etc.

Summary: Er… something rather _predictable_ happens (predictable if you know my stories like I do, anyway) and then something even _more_ predictable happens!

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…Getting dark, too dark to see

Feels like I'm knocking on Heaven's door

Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven's door…

Mama, put my gun to the ground

I can't shoot them anymore

That coal black cloud is coming down

Feels like I'm knocking on Heaven's door

Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven's door,

Hey, hey, hey, hey, yeah

Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven's door…

-Guns 'n' Roses, _Knockin' on Heaven's Door_

It was three o'clock in the morning when the pager went off, and neither of the McTavishs were very happy about it. Clara groaned out loud. "Tom… turn it off. I have to work in the morning!"

Tom laughed as he kissed her goodbye. "It is morning, sugar." Checking the page again, he announced, "I've got to go… School building on the corner of Third and White is burning."

Clara sat bolt upright. "It's _what!?_" 

Thomas shrugged. "It's opening up to the seventh layer of Hell and allowing itself to be vaporized. And I have to go save it."

Clara buried her head in her pillow again. "My hero."

He chuckled.

"Be careful, okay?"

His disarming grin put her at ease. "I'm always careful. I love you, you know."

"I noticed."

"Good. See you 'round dinner time, then," Tom said, and then he was off.

* * *

James Potter swept into the office that morning at quarter past seven, whistling something that sounded suspiciously like the melody to a song with rather lewd lyrics. Clara thumped her head on her desk. She hadn't been able to sleep since Tom left that morning, and it showed on her face. 

"Could you be _less happy_ for a moment, Minister?" she asked, talking into the desk.

"Only for you, Madame." And he went right on whistling.

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Why, oh why, did everyone vote for the guy with charisma? Couldn't we have voted for some old fart who'd sleep all day, miss meetings, and generally annoy **no one**?

"Black, Lupin, my office, please." It was an oddly formal request from such a man, and Sirius and Remus had to regard each other with the expressions they'd used before only when dealing with McGonagall back at Hogwarts. They also had to follow him, and they did, into his office. The door slammed shut behind them.

__

Sirius and Remus exchanged that glance again. "James?"

Finally, the slight hint of a smile appeared on his face. "That's Minister Potter to you, Moony."

"That's Minister of Defense Moony to you, James."

Prongs laughed and put his feet up on his desk. "It's good to be back."

Sirius grinned. "I take it we're not in trouble then, Minister Potter?" His dark eyes danced with an inner fire, and James knew he was just taunting him with the title.

"Not at all," James replied. "Actually, I was about to make a dinner proposal."

Remus' stomach growled. The other two men turned their attention to him and laughed. "I'll take that as a yes, then," James said, taking his feet down off of the desk as the owl in the cage behind the door gave him a nasty look. _Ministry owls_, he thought with irritation. _Can't mind their own bloody business_. 

Remus raised his eyebrows. "We're already having company," he explained, "but a few more can't hurt. Hillside Manor at seventeen hundred?" 

Sirius suppressed a smile. Remus had been stuck on military time since college, and he found it more than a little amusing. "I'll be there," the other two men chorused, grinning their still-identical grins.

It was Remus' turn to smile at them, and he felt a momentary flash of pity for Filch once again.

* * *

Eight children, aged ten to seven, ran rampant around Hillside Manor (Remus' pet name for what had once been the Nightrunner estate). Indeed, four of them had very red hair, four of them were twins, and the others had had far too much sugar. Still, the sight was heartening to the few privileged adults that were present to see it. 

"They get along well," Molly Weasley commented dryly as Fred and George, her twin sons, chased the screaming Vera and Sierra through the sitting room. 

"Mummy!" Sierra yelled, torn between grabbing at her golden locks and scrambling to hide behind Mioré Black's chair. Instead, she pointed at one of the twins. "Mummy, Fred turned my hair yellow!"

"That's George, dear," Mioré admonished, trying hard not to smile as she pulled out her wand to perform the counter-spell.

Molly was busy addressing her twin sons. "…I'm appalled by your behavior! Can't you get on well for once? George, give your father back his wand. Fred, I want you to apologize _right now_."

They did so, barely managing to keep their grins in check, and were gone from the room in a matter of seconds. 

"Well," Molly said, as she watched their retreating twin behinds, "at least they can't get Percy anymore."

Harry and Ron, too, were hiding from the twin terrors. "I really, really hate spiders," Ron explained quietly as Fred and George, laughing, walked by the bush they were using for cover. He shuddered when he saw the large glass jar that they carried between them.

"Really?" Harry asked, thinking that there were many other things a person could be afraid of, like the Dementors his father had told him about, vampires, etceteras. (A/n: that is how it is spelled!!) "Why?"

Ron shrugged and, seeing that the twins were out of sight, stood. "It's a long story," he answered. 

At this point, laughter could be heard again. But it was not the maniacal cackling of the Weasley twins, nor was it exactly a girlish type of giggling…

Harry and Ron came out of hiding, confronting the source of the laughter. Ginny, Archer, Vera and Sierra stood there, laughing as Sirius black tried to un-stick his hand from the doorknob. "Archer…" Sirius warned, glaring in the boy's direction. "Did you put Esipret's SuperGlue on the door again?"

Archer shook his head and grinned innocently, speaking above the laughter of his companions, now joined by Ron and Harry. "Nope."

Ron cleared his throat. "You might want to try my brothers, though…"

Ginny Weasley snickered.

The tinkling of many bells rang through the house, signaling that dinner was about to be served. Allya appeared at the door, laughing at the sight of her old friend stuck to the handle. "Honestly, Sirius, has Archer gone and pulled another joke on you?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be in revenge mode by now?"

"It wasn't me!" Archer insisted, looking cross.

"Right," Sierra muttered to herself. 

Just then, Fred and George appeared from behind a stand of trees. They didn't seem at all surprised to see Sirius' predicament, but their identical grins gave them away yet again.

"Fred…" Allya warned. "George…" She reached out to grasp one of Fred's hands in hers, pulled out her wand, and said, "_Revealium_." 

Blue ink appeared on his palm, and Allya gave him a knowing look. "Go wash up for dinner, hmm? I'll take care of Sticky." 

All eight children filed in the door, and Allya turned her wand to Sirius. "You planning revenge?" she asked, eyes twinkling as she undid the glue.

"Of course," Sirius answered, maniacal glint in his dark eyes. "When am I not?"

She laughed. "Off with you! It's time for dinner, and it won't do to be late."

* * *

Indeed, it was two hours later, after the Weasleys had gone home, that the Marauders and their families sat in the main sitting room, talking. Mioré was tucking Sierra into one of the spare beds; Archer and Vera were already asleep, having dozed off halfway through dinner. Remus was setting the night wards on the house, and James had just left to go to the bathroom. Allya and Sirius (who had indeed gotten revenge on the Weasley twins by putting banana cream pies on their chairs), seeing their chance, set in on poor Harry.

"There's always an empty chair," Allya said thoughtfully, glancing at the old armchair by the fire that had most certainly seen better days. Still, she couldn't bear to rid herself of it and buy a new one, or even Transfigure it into something that fit the décor better. 

Harry looked at her expectantly. "Why?"

Sirius fixed an empty stare upon his "nephew." "Because someone is always missing."

The young boy's curiosity was peaked- Sirius and Allya exchanged glances, knowing they were going to get in very big trouble with this next question. "Who?" Harry persisted.

"Lily and Morgana Potter."

Allya waited for recognition and sadness to write themselves on Harry's face, but his expression was blank. "Who?" he asked again.

Sirius and Allya exchanged another dangerous look. "James _Harold _Potter," Sirius yelled dangerously, eyes flashing. He'd suspected, but his high opinion of James hadn't allowed him to see just how bad things were. "James Potter, get your sorry self in here this very second."

When James appeared, his pale face alerted Sirius to the fact that he had, in fact, suspected something was up. Allya, just as incensed as Sirius was, couldn't even look her friend in the eye. "James," she said in a deadly quiet voice. "We need to talk."

Sirius, though not usually an overly profane person, lost his cool just then. It became apparent after a few breaths that he had probably been a sailor in a past life, except that he could have out-cursed any sailor ever to cross one of the seven seas. Finally, he calmed down a bit. "You know what, James? _Fuck_ talking. Get out of my sight."

Remus, who had just reentered the room in time to hear the past few words, saw Allya's expression and decided that Sirius probably wasn't overreacting. Without even so much as an asking glance, he dragged James to the nearest closet, took away his wand, and locked him in.

Back in the sitting room, Allya and Sirius were still fuming.

"Okay," Remus said, looking graver than normal. "What did he do?"

"Memory charm," Sirius said darkly, watching Harry, who looked like he was trying to disappear into the sofa cushions. 

Realization dawned on Remus' face. "Harry doesn't-" 

Allya shook her head. "He doesn't know about _anything_, Remus."

"He doesn't-" Rage showed itself so plainly on Remus' usually calm face that Sirius thought he'd burst a major artery. He stormed out of the room again, and doors could be heard slamming on the way back to the closet.

Sirius rose to James' assistance, but Allya held him back. "Remus isn't a violent man, Sirius. James is safe- meanwhile, we owe Harry an explanation."

The two Marauders turned their attention to the Boy Who Lived. "Who were Lily and Morgana Potter?" Harry asked quietly, not wanting to incur the wrath of the man who could out-cuss anyone that side of Mars (excepting, perhaps, an abnormally perturbed Remus, but we'll get to that later).

Allya sighed. "We'll start at the beginning, I suppose. _Accio photo album._" A thick, leathery volume flew into her arms. "The beginning, as far as I can tell it, is only fifth year at Hogwarts. So for that part, I think I'll have to transfer you to Sirius."

She handed him the book, thinking for a moment that he would refuse. After all, the memories were a lot more painful for him. But then he cracked Remus' prize-winning photo album to the first page, and began to speak. Quietly, the words drifted through the air, tiny vibrations making their way to Harry's eardrums.

"Your father and I met Lily on the train to Hogwarts in our first year," he began. "It was really stormy that day. The first encounter they ever had, he grabbed her from behind as lightning struck." Sirius laughed bitterly. "She spent the next three months hating us, right until we caught her when she fell of her broom in flying lessons." Another low, sarcastic chuckle. "She ignored us for a week; tried to pretend we hadn't saved her life. But she never could stay mad at your father for long."

Harry took the leather-bound book that Sirius offered. "That was her?" he asked, pointing to the girl with eyes so like his own.

Sirius nodded. "That was your mother." He sat back a bit. "I think I need Allya's help to explain the rest."

She sighed. "I began having the dreams around my third year, when I still lived in Canada. I didn't understand them then; I knew no one in them and I'd only heard Voldemort's name mentioned on rare occasions when my parents invited other Aurors over to dinner.

"When I met James and Lily, I understood. Theirs would be the children that defeated him, that brought an end to the reign of terror. Divination had always been one of my best subjects.

"Back then, I didn't want to believe the dreams. I ignored most of them, and couldn't decipher the images I got from the orb well enough to understand. Still, I should have guessed that something was up.

"We went into hiding when we realized how much danger we were really in from Voldemort. We'd put some of his best operatives in Azkaban, and there is no doubt that he was angry with us. Here, in fact. Only one person knew where we were hidden, and only that person could betray us.

"That happened two months after your sister was born. Voldemort tortured and killed our Secret-keeper, but before she died she gave away our location. Only you, your father, your mother, and your sister, Morgana Faye Potter, were home when the Dark Lord came knocking on the door." Allya sighed, closing her eyes against the difficult memories. "We found James knelt over your mother's body when we got back. Your sister wasn't far away, but you were sitting up on the floor, screaming bloody murder- which it was. James was outside when Voldemort was hit with his own curse- a curse which rebounded off of you and ultimately caused you that scar."

It became clear that she'd quite finished, and Harry spent some time thinking. "Is Voldemort- is he dead, then?"

Allya shook her head. "He's as good as dead, Harry. But given the right help, he could rise again."

James was not being spoken to in the same civil tone. "What did you think you were doing with him, James?" Remus asked, displaying the barely controlled rage characteristic of a betrayed werewolf. "What did you think you were doing, not telling him about Lily? Not telling him about Voldemort I can understand; it's a lot for a young boy to think about and eventually prepare for. But James, you never taught him about _love_. How could you?"

James couldn't look his friend in the eye. "Remus, I-"

"Shut up and listen," Remus commanded, Summoning a chair for James to sit in while he raged. James sat, thinking it best to remain still and wait for the tirade to come to an end. "I've known you for years. I know the past has been hard on you." He lowered his gaze to meet James'. "Having no past is harder on Harry." Remus resumed pacing. "If you can't talk about it, fine. Even I have resorted to calling her death 'it,' James. Afraid to say what happened out loud. But _Harry doesn't know anything_."

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," James said morosely, watching the floor. He thought of the little dust bunnies scurrying around, their movements caused by Remus', and suddenly wished he could be one of them.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Remus snapped.

James drew in a sharp breath. Remus, even an enraged Remus, was never that snappy or blunt. He wasn't the only one who noticed, and Moony continued his lecture with a bit more caution. 

He thought for a moment. "James, did anyone ever tell you that when you love someone, you have to let them go?"

* * *

__

It was only sixth year, but it felt like the end of forever. The two best friends the world could have ever hoped to see were fighting, at each other's throats with the nastiest words they could find. It was natural that old wounds would be torn open, but none hurt so much as the jab James threw Sirius then.

It started innocently enough, of course. "If you're so convinced we're meant to be, Sirius, then why are you going out with her?"

Sirius shrugged. "I wanted to make you jealous, for a while," he confessed. "See if I couldn't get you back together."

James' jaw dropped and it took him a moment to regain his bearings. I can't believe I didn't see it before…_ "You've been manipulating me," he said finally. "_Fuck_, Sirius, did you ever stop to think about her feelings? You never did love her, did you?"_

Sirius spitted him with a dark glare. "Have you ever heard the saying that when you love someone, you have to let them go?"

James nodded.

Sirius said, "Well, you_ can forget it."_

* * *

"James?" Remus asked. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," James said, putting the memories aside to be analyzed later.

"And?" Remus asked.

James sighed. "Yeah, Remus, I've heard it before."

"Well," Remus said, giving James the piercing gaze that he had given so many, "you can forget it."

* * *

The phone rang late that evening, as Clara was just finishing making supper. _Tom should be home any minute_, she predicted, and so decided to let the machine pick up. She'd just put the plates on the table when she froze in place, listening to the voice on the answering machine.

Tom.

"Clar, I'll be later than expected coming home today; the fire on Third and White started up again- I won't be home till late, so don't wait up for me, all right?" There was a click before Clara could get to the phone.

She picked up his plate and put it back in the cupboard. _I hate surprises_, she decided with certainty, then sat down to eat alone.

END OF PART THREE

__

Look ma, no cliffhanger! Bwahahahaha. So, thanks in advance for those who review. Yes, I am mean enough to have James wipe Harry's memory. Next up: Harry talks to Morgana (the portrait, remember?), something bad happens, something else bad happens, you know, the usual. 


	4. Rain

Road of Life 4: When Comes the Rain

l. a.

Summary: …

Disclaimer: Harry and the Marauders belong to J. K. Rowling, as do Hogwarts, the Ministry, and anything else from the Harry Potter books. Pardon me for taking over the sandbox. 

Claimer: Poem's mine. Mine mine, even if it sucks. 

Dedication: To the aunt I never had… never met, never saw, never even knew about until a few months ago. This series is for you, whoever you are, and wherever.

Note: Couldn't resist the reference to the X-files. See if you can spot it. (it's oh-so-easy) I tried to make it extra-long for taking so much time to write, but I'm afraid it just comes off as kind of lame. I do apologize for the extreme time I took writing it.

Question/Statement-thing: Oh. Taboo subject: James, dating?! What was I _thinking_? And reintroducing Cinda Green? _So_ not a good idea! Ha, you have no idea what I have planned, do you? (Evil grin) Still, _James_, dating? If you have a problem with that, don't hesitate to tell me. I'm a pyro, anyway.

__

You can shine your shoes and wear a suit,  
You can comb your hair and look quite cute,  
You can hide your face behind a smile,  
One thing you can't hide is when you're crippled inside.  
  
You can wear a mask and paint your face,  
You can call yourself a new race,  
You can wear a collar and a tie,  
One thing you can't hide is when you're crippled inside,  
  
Well you know your cat has nine lives babe,  
Nine lives to itself,  
But you only got one and a dog's life ain't fun,  
Mamma take a look outside.  
  
You can go to church and sing a hymn,  
Judge me by the color of my skin,  
You can live a lie until you die,  
One thing you can't hide is when you crippled inside

-John Lennon, _Crippled Inside_

Harry flopped down on his old, comfortable bed in his new, unfamiliar house with a sigh. It was well past midnight, not that he had to get up early the next morning, but he was only eight and a half years old. _I had a sister_, he thought wistfully, still not quite able to remember much about her. _And I don't know anything about her._ His dark eyebrows knit together. _Because of Dad_.

The thought was black and unpromising and ugly, and Harry pushed it away before it could take hold. _He only meant what was best for me_, he reasoned with himself. Besides, thinking bad things about his father always made him have a guilty conscience. Nobody could stay mad at James Potter except Harry's various aunts and uncles, anyway. 

Used to having a wall on the left side of his bed, Harry turned over restlessly only to find himself on the floor. "Ouch."

A voice spoke quietly from his nightstand. "Are you okay, Harry?" She sounded concerned.

"I'm fine, Morgana," Harry said automatically. And then- "Morgana?"

"Hmm?" She sounded as sleepy as he felt.

"Did you know that I had a sister named the same as you?" Harry asked quietly, crawling back under the covers again.

"Yeah," Morgana's voice cracked. "Yeah, I did."

He rolled over on his side to hear her better. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" he asked. "Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

Harry couldn't see the portrait, but he knew that she was examining her hands. "I didn't want to upset you," she said.

Harry was becoming more confused by the moment. "Upset me how?"

He heard her resigned sigh and visualized her finally looking up to meet his eyes. "I _am_ your sister, Harry."

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the telephone line was quiet and at the same time guilt-laden. The handset shook in her grip. Something was not right. "This is she." The voice became graver, offering condolences. "He- I- yes, that would be fine." More mindless blather that was going right through her brain without being processed. "I- I'll be there in five minutes."

Clara McTavish replaced the receiver and grabbed her wand off of the shelf. Within seconds, she was gone from her home.

The man at the front desk was really friendly and helpful, and Clara wanted to use an Unforgivable curse on him. Perhaps he was a bit _too_ friendly; given the circumstances, Clara wasn't in a very good mood. 

It darkened considerably when the man who was taking care of matters in the morgue tried to hit on her. She Stunned him and erased all memories of inappropriate pickup lines from his brain. Clara also stuffed him in one of the drawers while he was still Stunned, and he deserved it. She checked the number on the piece of paper in her hand again. _It can't be him_.

Clara found the correct number and stood for a moment, composing herself. It would take all of her courage to open that drawer. She finally gathered it through reasoning- _It's not him, anyway, so what harm is there in looking?_

It was in this state of denial that she first saw the body of what had used to be Thomas McTavish.

Her wand, still in her hand after the Stunning and memory charms, clattered to the floor. Clara wasn't long in following it. As she buried her face in her hands, trying to block out what she had seen, the past two days seemed to mock her. _I never even told him I loved him one last time_. 

The night guard found her there, on the floor by her fallen husband, at three o'clock in the morning, and called her a taxi.

The ceiling spun above her head and the bed beneath her seemed unstable. She was dimly aware that something had gotten or was about to get complicated and struggled to wake up fully. Instead, she managed to sit up in a panic and wake the man beside her, which made her sorry. Remus certainly needed all the rest he could get.

"Ally?" he called softly into the cold darkness. A strong arm reached up and pulled her back down under the relative comfort of the warm blankets. "Nightmare?" he asked sympathetically.

Allya, realizing fully that not every dream could be a premonition, sank into the familiar safety of her husband's loving embrace and shook her head imperceptibly, trusting that he would register the movement anyway just from knowing her so well. "Perhaps," she answered, closing her eyes. "I hope so, anyway."

__

A premonition, then. "Do you want to talk about it?" Remus' eyes were, as always, filled with compassion- although she couldn't see it in the dark, she knew it was there.

She sighed. "Let's just say it involved a very angry Sirius and a distraught and angry James."

Remus winced sympathetically. "That doesn't sound like much fun."

"It was awful- so bad that Sirius and Mioré moved away to live in Scotland. Everyone was really angry, and I can't figure out why." Allya was exasperated beyond words.

"Sirius and Mioré aren't going anywhere tonight," Remus said softly, stroking her hair in an effort to calm her down a bit. "James is just back from an incredibly long absence and not even Sirius is going to go getting peeved at him right off." He kissed her forehead, and in the darkness the comfort increased tenfold. "You've got to relax a bit, hmm?"

Allya sighed, conceding the point. "You're right. Too much stress lately. I've got to get a different job…"

Indeed, stress was a large factor at the office, though Ally could not be bound to a cubicle or desk of any sort. It was in Remus' office when the trouble arose that morning, and he decided that this time, when the shit hit the fan, it had scattered farther than he cared to estimate. 

He could see Clara McTavish at her desk, distractedly throwing pencils at the ceiling. She looked rather sleepless and bored and bothered, and as it was barely a week since her husband had died he wondered why she was at the office at all.

What a mess.

He'd called her in earlier to ask her if she was okay. "Clara, sit down," he'd said, swiveling in his comfortable office chair and rubbing one hand over his eyes. She'd sat, looking absolutely one-hundred-percent blank, and hadn't said a word. 

"I was very sorry to hear about your husband," Remus had said gently.

Clara had nodded, still mute.

"You really should be on leave," he'd continued. "To get over the shock, you know. Take some time off…"

At this, she'd adamantly refused.

And then he'd insisted that she talk to someone. It was the 'someone' involved that had probably put her off her work later on that day. "I'm sending you to the Minister," Remus had said, almost apologetically. "He's the best person to go to with this, at least until we hire an office psychiatrist. James _does_ have some rather horrific experience in this field."

And he hadn't seen her for two hours after that.

What a mess, indeed. _What have I done_?

Despite the fact that it was a horrible idea, Clara was pretty much obliged to do what her boss asked her to and so, mere moments after the conversation that morning, she knocked meekly on his door, pushing it open and poking her head in. "Remus said you were expecting me." She resisted the childish urge to bite her lip and cower like a frightened puppy in the Minister's somewhat formidable presence.

Yet at that moment, James Potter looked anything but formidable. He looked, to put it bluntly, tired, overworked, and burned out. _Remus is calling in a favor_, he thought. Still, James nodded. "Take a seat."

__

So very like Remus, Clara noted, wondering exactly how far back the association went. She made a mental note to ask her boss about it. 

James let out a frustrated sigh and propped his chin up on his elbows, leaning forwards. "So, Mrs. McTavish, what did my charismatic Defense minister send you in here for?"

__

And he doesn't know? "You really should read your reports, sir," she said, reflecting back on her days as his secretary, before she'd requested a transfer. Clara pointed to one ugly pink form buried beneath several olive ones that were only slightly more attractive. 

James unfolded his glasses and set them on his nose, quickly reading through the memo. The silence in the spacious office grew somewhat uncomfortable. "I see," James said finally, and Clara felt even more uncomfortable. "You have my condolences, Mrs. McTavish."

"Just Clara," she said somewhat roughly, not wanting her deceased husband's name any longer for the memories it instilled. 

James nodded sagely. "Clara. I assume this is what you came to talk about."

"What I was _sent_ to talk about," she corrected somewhat icily.

James winced almost imperceptibly, drumming his fingers on the desk and examining its surface distractedly. Decision-making was supposed to be his strong point, yet it took a few seconds for him to decide how to best broach the subject. Finally sighing resignedly, he pulled a battered old frame out of his drawer and slid it across the desk to where Clara's head was hanging.

Clara looked up for a second, startled from her reverie by the sound of wood upon wood. She studied the picture before her, not quite sure what the Minister was up to. The initial lack of emotion in his voice when he finally spoke surprised her.

"We were eleven when we first met." The lack of emotion didn't last long.

And suddenly, she understood. _I want to leave_, Clara thought wildly, looking around the room for any possible means of escape. _I can't hear him talk about this-_ She got up and stumbled blindly toward the door, but was quickly stopped by a simple gesture from James.

"I owe Remus a favor," James said, and his voice commanded her to look at him. "I've never talked about this before. I'd appreciate it if you listened."

Quite surprised and yet intrigued all the same, Clara slowly sank back into her chair, re-examining the old photograph.

It was a Muggle one, portraying a girl of about twelve with long, shining red hair and huge green eyes. Oddly enough, for a Muggle photograph at least, there was a large, snow-white owl perched on her arm. A wide grin had spread itself across the girl's face, and it was apparent that she was to become quite a beauty in her later years.

"I knew nothing until I met her," James continued. "Oh, we had our differences- we were nearly too different to be allowed sometimes. She was always the serious, practical one, while I was a fun-loving, idealistic prankster." He bit his lip, wondering how to follow that sentence. "We brought out the best in each other. And the worst."

Clara's eyes filled with understanding, and the mystery man before her suddenly became less of an enigma and something closer to human. "What was her name?"

"You've not heard all of the stories, then," James said quietly. "I'd have thought it required for a person of your post."

Clara, not understanding, gave him a questioning glance. "I beg your pardon. I don't get out much."

James laughed bitterly. "That makes two of us." He sighed. "Her name was Lily, and as you might've guessed, she was Muggle-born. We met at Hogwarts, and suffice it to say, we didn't get along like the best of friends." He slid another photograph across the desk. "Everyone knows my son- the Boy Who Lived. Nobody remembers the innocent face behind the woman who died."

A considerable ache built inside Clara's heart, only serving to add to her pain. _Thomas and I never even had any children. I've nothing living to remember him by- not really_. "Harry has her eyes," she said quietly, vowing not to cry. In her decision not to look at him, she missed completely the single tear that James wiped off of his cheek. She somehow felt, though reluctantly, that she had to share her story. "Thomas was a Muggle," she said, chewing on her lip. "I'm Muggle-born, too, so it was never a real problem between us. One of the things that first attracted me to him was his rather heroic tendencies. My cat got herself stuck up a tree, and as I was living in a Muggle neighborhood, I couldn't use magic to get her down. A friend of mine called the fire department for me and that's when I met Tom."

"He was a fireman?" James asked, raising his eyebrows._ Those were the days_. When Clara nodded, and before she went back to her tale, she thought she saw him almost smile weakly. (A/n: [Click here][1] for that story!) The next second, however, it was gone.

"It was a quick path to love," Clara reflected, head in her hands. A tear dripped, unnoticed, from her cupped chin onto the knee of her robes. "We were married in less than six months. I've yet to meet such a brave man." She sighed deeply. "In the end it was his undoing. Killed in a fire."

James flinched. "I'm sorry. You should take the day off-" he reached for his wand to cast her a request for time off-

Clara's hand stopped him and he looked up into her clear gray eyes. A simple shake of her head. "I cannot be alone today."

So she'd gone back to work, and there she still was.

Remus winced as the thirty-eighth pencil embedded itself in the ceiling tile, knowing that it could hold no more. Sure enough, a moment later the plaster, punctured by over fifty little holes (some of the pencils hadn't stuck) crumbled and fell onto Mrs. McTavish's head. 

She didn't really seem to notice; just pulled out her wand and repaired the damage somewhat absently. And then, sure enough, she threw the first pencil again.

He didn't even remember Apparating home, much less removing his shoes, changing his robes, lighting the fire in the grate, and removing his quill from its stand. Yet the words stared up at him accusingly from the parchment- he could read them in the flickering firelight.

__

Puddles on a dirty street

Water, salt, and my cheeks meet

Bright umbrella and a crowded awning

When comes the rain

Raindrops fall on frosted glass

Each one merging with the last

I can't reconcile with my own past

When comes the rain

Funny that he didn't remember thinking up the words. They just seemed to flow from the end of the pen and he hadn't considered their meaning until they were down on paper. Sighing tiredly, he doused the fire and climbed into his cold bed.

Alone.

End part four.

-Five A-

Harry Potter, Cardshark 

"He's in the garden."

Allya spun around to regard her daughter curiously. "What's that, angel?"

Vera Lupin gave her mother the open stare that intrigued so many. "You asked where Daddy was. He's in the garden- the back one with the black roses."

__

But I didn't ask her anything, Allya thought to herself, sighing mentally, _and those roses are _not_ black. Speaking of which, I'll have to berate Remus for moping in the cemetery again_. "Thank you, Vera." She wondered privately if her daughter (who'd turned out to be slightly color-blind after all, and it was no wonder with two semi-canine parents) was telepathic or had simply spent far too much time with her. She also wondered how on Earth she was going to tell Remus what had happened.

"You quit," he said quietly, even before she'd called his name. She should have known he would have smelled her coming.

"Yes," she conceded softly, pressing her lips together. "I told you I would."

Remus nodded to himself more than to his wife, who was still behind him. He turned away from Jonathan's tombstone slowly, eyes questioning her motive.

"Too much death," Allya explained, lowering her gaze. "And I couldn't leave the twins without a mother, after all."

"You've been thinking about Mrs. McTavish's husband."

"Yes."

Remus nodded to himself again, thinking. 

"I couldn't leave you in the state Clara is in," she clarified, looking at her toes. A second later she pressed an envelope into her hand. "I got this from Dumbledore yesterday."

His eyebrows furrowed, but he unfurled the parchment and began to read the loopy scrawl he recognized as the Headmaster's.

Scanning through the text, a thoughtful expression formed itself on his face. "Will you go?" he asked solemnly, face betraying nothing.

Nothing to an outsider. Allya read every breath and microscopic movement of every feature. "I don't know," she answered. "I just don't know."

"This seat taken?"

Her voice seemed familiar… an employee? Someone from the Ministry, an ex-Auror, perhaps? Someone he'd interrogated on his quest for Lucius Malfoy? James raised his head. "No."

Tall and slim, not to mention exquisitely beautiful, and every golden hair on her perfect head glinted in the muted, understated lighting that was the interior of the Leaky Cauldron. "Remember me, Minister? Cinda Green; I played Seeker for you back at Hogwarts-"

"I remember," James finally said, smiling and extending his hand. "Good to see you again."

"Well, sure," she replied. "Always good to have a reunion."

He smiled humorlessly. "Not always."

"No," Cinda agreed after a moment. "Not always."

There was an awkward pause in which neither spoke. James broke it tentatively. "The years seem to have treated you well."

She laughed- a sound not entirely unpleasant, if it did sound a little underused- and gave him a smile. "Amazing what a little magic can do after two failed marriages, no?"

James, somehow managing not to look at all surprised, delved with all his soul into the conversation.

"Thanks again for taking care of Harry for me." 

She couldn't believe he was wearing a Muggle suit and tie. "It's no problem," she responded, smiling wanly. "It's not like I have anything else to do."

James paused before Apparating away, looking guilty. He opened his mouth to apologize- once again- but Clara waved him off. "Go," she said, slapping him with the rolled-up newspaper she'd been reading. "Have fun. Get kicked out of the restaurant. Make the morning papers."

James still looked skeptical. 

"Go!" she cried, laughing and hitting him again, on the bum this time. 

James half-smiled and raised his hands in surrender. "I'm gone, babe." And so he was.

Clara sighed and settled into her chair once more. The Boy Who Lived, ever the well-behaved nine-year-old, sat watching her with those soulful emerald eyes of his. Biting her lip as she remembered James' old Muggle-photo, Clara asked him tentatively, "So, kid, you know how to play poker?"

Harry shook his head no.

Clara smiled. "Great. Pull up a chair and roll up your sleeves…"

Two hours and an awful lot of cards later, Harry sat at the table, expertly performing the bridge and dealing out two hands for five-card stud. "…and deuces are wild," he finished, before picking up his hand.

Clara raised her eyebrows at the handful of cards she'd received- two kings and a two, making for three kings. Unusually good for five-card stud. She pushed a couple of the Every Flavor Beans into the middle of the table, watching as Harry did the same. "Call you on it," she said finally, and laid down her cards. "Read 'em and weep- three kings."

Harry tossed his cards beside hers. "Four aces," he said, sweeping the pile of candy towards him. 

Clara grimaced and bit her lip. "I'm beginning to wonder if your father will appreciate this," she said ruefully, popping one of the chocolate frogs from the bag that lay open on the table into her mouth. "Maybe it should be our little secret."

Harry grinned. "I think I can handle that."

Harry was in bed ten minutes later, fast asleep another five after that. 

__

Notes-

I'd like to thank everyone who I bounced ideas off of for this… and apologize for taking so bloody long. I don't know when 5b will be up, honestly I can't quite say, because I have been really busy lately (which is no excuse, I know). 

   [1]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=122975



	5. Clara is Curious

-Road of Life-

Author: lone astronomer

Disclaimer: Everything property of J. K. Rowling, Warner bros., and whoever else has a piece of the pie.

Summary: James comes home from his date late, appearance made by Sirius for the first time in too long, and Ally teases James.

-Five B-

Clara is Curious

Harry was long asleep, midnight was long gone, and Clara was quite bored. She was also in the midst of wondering if she should have given the Minister a curfew, because, truth be told, she really had no desire to spend the remainder of the next morning at the Potter household. It was with this boredom in her mind that she went exploring.

The kitchen, bathroom, and living room she'd been through already. They were quite nondescript, as was Harry's bedroom, in which the only object of any real interest was the growing, talking painting on his dresser. As Clara found out, most of the house was nondescript, if not particularly modest. There were exceptions- a dining room she'd not looked in on before with a high vaulted ceiling and a marble floor, which James obviously didn't use often, and a good-sized office with nearly an entire wall of windows. There was also a guest bedroom, well-appointed if somewhat formal. Clara thought it might have originally been from James' old dorm room at Hogwarts, though she'd not been in Gryffindor. She shook her head and closed the door to the room behind her.

Logically, this left one last door to be opened, and Clara stood before it, unsure. She bit her lip and rocked back on her heels, old habits which she'd never quite gotten rid of. _To snoop or not to snoop…_ She finally couldn't bear to stand there any longer, and one of Clara's hands grasped the knob seemingly of its own accord. She was standing inside before she knew what she was doing.

Clara didn't quite know what she'd expected, standing out there in front of the doorway to a different realm. Perhaps somehow she'd expected simplicity, a no-nonsense decorative theme and some musty old curtains. Maybe even in some twisted dream she'd imagined a wall of trophies, a whip or a knife or some sign of sadomasochistic tendencies, or used condoms strewn haphazardly about the room, some sign denying the celibacy everyone saw in James. Either way, the master bedroom at the Minister's house was not what she'd been thinking of.

It was quite large and tastefully decorated, that much was certain. Along the north wall sat a fireplace, burning cheerfully with magical flames and providing the rest of the dim light. Opposite that there were more of the bay windows Clara had admired about James' office. Between the two was a long table with a single chair standing dutifully at its side, topped by an ink bottle and phoenix-feather quill and a few rolls of parchment. On the far wall stood a wardrobe, huge and nearly intimidating, or it would have been had Clara not remembered at that moment that the only thing in it was probably black robes, black robes, and more black robes. To the left of it was the bed, dark mahogany in color and adorned with wooden gargoyles on each of the four posters. The bedclothes were dark maroon velvet, arranged perfectly. Clara suspected that under the comforter every sheet was hospital-cornered into perfection. Even in its richness, the room seemed somehow very sterile.

She took another step forward, eyebrows raising in surprise at the soft feel of the carpet under her feet. _Whatever anyone might say about politicians, the Minister has taste_. 

Clara closed the rest of the distance between her and the table without really thinking about it. It was almost as if something had drawn her there. The parchment on the table beckoned to her, screaming at her, begged her to read it. She knew she shouldn't. She knew that if she read it there was no turning back, that she'd know things about James that she never wanted to think about, but she couldn't stop herself. She read it anyway.

And as she finished, and the single tear spattered onto the table beside the crinkled paper, Clara picked up the quill. Without a single shake, her handwriting graced the page in perfect imitation of James' own unusual script. There was a muffled _thunk_ as she shoved the quill back into its holder a little harder than was necessary, and it nearly fell over. Reaching over to steady it, her hand knocked something else in the darkness.

Frowning, Clara lit her wand to get a better look. _Is there nothing there_? All she could see behind the ink bottle was- well, nothing. As in, a lacking of something. But she'd felt something… hadn't she?

"_Revealio_," she whispered. There was a sharp tingling sensation in her arm as her magic broke through a privacy ward-

Clara's breath left her in a rush. _Oh, no_. Standing on the Minister's desk was the framed photograph she'd never hoped to see.

There was a quiet _pop_ in the living room of the Potter household around two in the morning. The vague shimmering of sparks disappeared rather quickly, leaving the room as dark as it had been before James appeared. A slight breeze whispered through the room and James shivered a bit with the cold, wondering why on Earth Clara had left the window open that late- or, rather, early. 

At the thought of her, James frowned slightly, looking around the room for any trace. Not finding any, he set out for Harry's bedroom to bid the boy goodnight, though his son wouldn't hear him.

Suddenly there she was, curled up against the wall in Harry's room, unmoving. Even in the disabling lack of light he could see that she held a frame in each hand and that she was not, in fact, sleeping, but staring with wide open eyes back and forth between the two of them, between the sleeping girl with the fiery hair and the happy, gurgling baby in her mother's arms. _Now where would she have gotten that?_

"Did you have a good night?" Clara asked him quietly, completely nonplussed and managing not to sound bitter.

James swallowed the report he'd been prepared to give and instead told the truth. "Not especially. That Green woman wouldn't let me leave."

Clara raised her eyes and eyebrows in one motion.

James shook his head. "No, but don't think she takes being refused lightly, either."

His friend nodded. "I should go."

"Wait," James said after an awkward pause in which Clara attempted to bring herself to her feet. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up beside him. "I'm sorry I was so late. Look, you don't have to leave, you can sleep here if you want…"

Clara raised her eyebrows again.

James looked completely exasperated with her. "I have a _spare room_, you know… Honestly, I'm not a hormone-crazed teenager anymore!"

She finally grinned tiredly. "See you in the morning, then." And she was asleep in the spare bed before James even had a chance to ask where she'd gotten that photograph.

"Hullo, Sirius." 

He looked up, a bit startled to see her there, then smiled. "Morning, Sunshine. I thought you quit?"

Ally nodded, smiling and perhaps a bit too happy for someone who had just quit her job. "Came to visit you, what'd you think?"

Sirius gave her the patented 'I-don't-believe-you-for-a-second' look. "And this has absolutely nothing to do with a certain werewolf who's on lunchbreak as of five minutes from now?"

She shook her head innocently. "No." 

Sirius just regarded her somewhat disinterestedly. 

Ally scowled at his ability to make her 'fess up and flopped into the chair in front of his desk. "I'm here to talk to James, actually," she said. A lock of blonde hair, beginning to show traces of gray which its owner would one day begin coloring, fell into her face and Allya blew it out of the way distractedly. 

Her friend nodded. "Any special reason?"

"Bad vibes." She shrugged. "There's no more bad blood between you two, is there?"

Sirius blanched. "Not really. Why do you ask?"

"Aforementioned bad vibes. How's your father-in-law?"

"A bit lonely, but he'll survive." Mioré's mother had died a long while back, and her father still lived in Scotland at their old estate.

"Good to know. But I have to go now," Ally excused herself, glancing at her watch. "Come over for dinner?"

Sirius shook his head. "No can do. Men's night out, remember?"

Ally put her palm to her forehead. "I can't believe I forgot!" She gave him a teasing, admonishing look. "You boys behave yourselves this time, hear me? I want to hear no stories of Muggles turned toads or any such nonsense. Got it?"

Sirius held a hand up to his heart. "On my honor." 

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

"You look tired."

The voice startled James out of his semi-conscious reverie, and he turned his head to look at the door. "There's a reason for that." He took another sip of his coffee, trying to wake himself up.

Allya grinned. "Anything juicy?" She flopped into his chair.

James laughed. "Not _that_ kind of juicy."

A twinkle worked its way into Allya's blue eyes. "Heard you had a hot date last night."

He snorted. "Been talking to Clara?" He raised his mug to his lips.

The twinkle turned into a spark. "I was talking _about_ Clara."

James spat out the coffee all over his desk and began coughing furiously. "Care to explain that?" he asked.

"Not really," Allya answered, calling, "Come in!" over her shoulder.

A woman with sandy brown hair a bit younger than the two inside the office opened the door, confused. Someone had called, 'come in,' before she'd had the chance to knock. "James, I-" Her eyes fell on the werewolf. "Sorry, Minister. If you're busy, I can come back later."

"Actually," Allya said, jumping up, "I was just leaving. Talk to you later, _James_." She put the emphasis on his first name and grinned slyly, winking in his general direction. "Bye, Clara."

Clara watched as Lupin swished out the door, royal blue cloak sliding over the marble tiles like magic- which it might have been. She turned her eyes to James. "Did I miss something?" 

"No," James said, looking at her with his eyes open for a change. "But I think I might have."

END PART 5B


	6. Sing When You're Winning

-Road of Life-

__

On the road of life, there are passengers and there are drivers.

This is the story of the road they travel.

-Six-

Disclaimer: Characters and setting are the property of J. K. Rowling. Plot's mine; may not be that great but I'm kinda attached to it.

Summary: We continue introspection on James' poem and his growing feelings for Clara, and the Weasleys make another appearance. We have two different kinds of Potter-angst. Also some (okay; a lot) from Clara's point of view, because we love her. ^_^ Just to keep you updated, it has now been nine months since Thomas died.

Challenge: Strange, isn't it. Well, it actually wasn't inspired by the song written here. See if you can guess- Hint: it's by Billy Joel.

-Six-

Sing When You're Winning

__

"Teardrops are a faded sign

Perfect, forgotten love of mine

To long for a touch that is divine

When comes the rain"

James frowned sharply at the parchment before him. Just like the last time, he didn't remember writing any of the words. Except last time, he'd actually sat in front of the parchment before they'd appeared. Granted, it had been three months since he'd last looked at that particular piece of parchment, three busy months. 

Harry had been enrolled in Muggle grammar school at his Aunt Mioré's insistence, a last tribute to his long-dead love and perhaps a sign that he'd been able to let go of his past and his fear. He'd passed two new laws concerning broom safety, attended countless meetings, and promoted Arthur Weasley to the head of the Ministry for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. On top of all this, he'd done so much paperwork that he'd had to get a new prescription for his glasses.

James sighed, running fingers through his hair (too long once again, and this time with traces of gray). Speculation about what had happened to the parchment usually led to the same conclusion, and he'd been staring at it for a little over an hour. He imagined that, perhaps, someone was trying to tell him something, and wasn't being very subtle about it.

The someone he didn't know, but the something was quite obvious from the words on the page: As suddenly as he had fallen for her, and as hard; Clara wasn't about to recover from a broken heart just yet. James groaned and massaged his eyes with one hand. _Why do I do this to myself?_ he wondered, and picked up the quill from the table.

*

_Send someone to love me, I need to rest in arms_

Keep me safe from harm

In pouring rain

Give me endless summer; Lord, I fear the cold

Feel I'm getting old

Before my time

*

__

The noise of the alarm was greatly annoying in the comfortable pre-dawn darkness, and an over-enthusiastic Banishing charm sent it flying across the room. The clockface shattered with the impact against the wall.

Clara McTavish groaned and sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes. Rover, who had been curled up on the end of the bed, stretched, meowed pitifully, and sauntered up to Clara, rubbing his head against her hand. 

"Hungry, are you?"

He meowed again.

"I suppose that means I have to get up." Clara allowed herself a moment of reflection. _Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Clara McTavish, twenty-nine-year-old loner who talks to her cat. Is this how you cope with trauma?_ She chuckled bitterly to herself, remembering what James had said about it a month ago. _'I was drowning my sorrows, but my sorrows, they learned how to swim.'_

She dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen, poured out a bowl of dry cat food and some owl pellets into the bottom of Fido's cage, and then prepared her coffee, all in the darkness. Light was too much of a shock to her system at five o'clock in the morning. Clara ate her breakfast in silence as always, took a cold shower to wake herself up, and was the first to the Ministry office for the eighth week running.

Or at least, she thought she was. 

"Aren't you here a little early?" a voice asked from behind her.

Clara jumped about a mile into the air at the sudden interruption and looked up from the contract she'd been writing out. "Merlin's beard," she breathed, waiting for her thudding heartbeat to return to normal. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people like that?"

James Potter just grinned at her. "I'm known to be awfully forgetful of lessons I don't want to learn."

Clara scowled, but she knew it looked insincere. "What are you doing here this early, anyway?"

James pulled up a chair and sat across from her. "I've got a meeting with the Russian Minister of Magic in," he checked his watch, "five minutes."

"Ah," she nodded. "Setting up a location for the World Cup this July?"

"Yes, but it's difficult because we don't know which two teams will be participating yet."

"Makes sense."

"So what are _you_ doing here so early?"

__

Clara turned her eyes up from her paperwork in time to catch the curious look James was giving her. She shifted under his intense gaze. It was as if he was trying to see through her. Instead of answering directly, Clara shrugged. "Nowhere better to be."

By the look on James' face, he clearly didn't believe her. But that was okay, because he was already late for his meeting.

*

There was something of a collective squeal as James opened the door to the Burrow later on that day- Harry had been away at Muggle grammar school in Ottery St. Catchpole, but afterward had walked back to the Weasley residence to stay until James got home from work. Before James could take so much as a step inside, he was thrown back against the doorframe. Five heat-seeking missiles hit him at intervals, and he couldn't help but laugh at the look on Harry's face as Sierra, Vera, Archer and Ginny careened into him from behind, squishing him up against his father.

"Hi, Dad!" Harry said, trying hard to breathe in the lack of space. 

"Hello, Harry," James answered good-naturedly. "Have a good day?"

"Yeah," Harry managed to squeeze out. "Hey, you guys wouldn't mind backing off over there, would you?"

The human pileup disbanded itself, and Molly Weasley appeared. She looked at the children suspiciously. "You haven't been bothering him, have you?" she asked, looking in particular at her young daughter.

The children all shook their heads no with a look of slight fear on their faces, and darted out the door behind James before she could issue a reprimand.

Molly sighed, looking somewhat resigned and deflated now that she didn't have to scare a flock of eight-year-olds into submission. "Won't you stay for tea, dear?"

The Weasleys' kitchen was homey, with a large clock with funny hands and a comfortable, organized mess covering nearly everything. There were marks, beside names and ages, all up the sides of the door frame- James stopped to look and noted them: just about nose-level, one read 'Bill, 16;' and a bit lower, 'Charlie, 16.' Lower still, a lot lower, there were 'Ron, 5' (which was beside a very squiggly line; James thought to himself that Ron had probably been even more restless when he was younger) and 'Percy, 4.' At this time he caught himself and straightened, following Molly further inside the kitchen and, at her direction, sitting somewhat numbly in one of the worn chairs.

Almost before he could feel awkwardly well-off in the somewhat flunkey kitchen, he snatched another glance around it. On the refrigerator he saw numerous magnetized pictures and drawings; one, of a particularly thin and pale wide-eyed girl, chilled him for a moment. In her he saw his daughter as she should have been, hungry chocolate eyes that looked like they wanted to devour the world, somewhat unruly red hair, face spattered with freckles. 

__

Morgana. James swallowed, turning his attention back to Molly.

Mrs. Weasley, on some subconscious level, understood. "Peppermint tea?" she asked gently, pouring a generous cupful and adding a good deal of sugar and cream. 

James nodded and took the cup, grateful. 

"Hard day?" Molly asked sympathetically.

He sighed. "Not particularly."

Molly regarded him sternly, hands on her hips. At that moment, James thought, she looked very mother hen. "Alright," she said, "Out with it."

James blinked. "What?" he asked, defensive. _She _can't_ know…_

"You know very well what," she said, and dropped all pretense of being gentle. "You have the look, young Mr. Potter. I have six sons, and I'd be accursed if I didn't know it when I saw it."

__

I stand corrected, James thought rather dully. 

"Tell me the story," Molly commanded gently. 

And so he did.

*

The famous nine-year-old, Harry Potter, stood at the door to the kitchen, not really sure what he was doing there. He felt that something was amiss, but couldn't quite place his finger on it. Harry knew, in the way that one knows something without knowing how, that his father was tired.

That didn't mean that he understood.

So, on his quest for understanding, Harry stood there and listened to his father tell the story, a story that was still relatively new to him but one that he had memorized from start to finish. He listened, perhaps too hard, and turned away halfway through, feeling his eyelids prickle with moisture that he couldn't show. His heart was laden down with guilt, and just like every time he heard the story, a heavy weight slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Harry had always felt that his sister and his mother had died because of him rather than for him.

He turned away, then, when James reached the story's climax, and he fled to the closet he'd scouted out earlier. Ginny would be along to find him soon enough, and he needn't waste more time than he already had. Already he had heard her shout, "Ready or not!" and anyway, it wouldn't do for him to be caught.

*

__

Go easy on my conscience 'cause its not my fault

I know I've been taught to take the blame

Rest assured my angels will catch my tears

Walk me out of here; I'm in pain

*

A dark-skinned hand pointed accusingly and an angry voice raged in her head, behind her eyes, in her sleep. The man from her dreams was haunting her, wouldn't leave her in peace. He was like a bothersome wart that just wouldn't go away, but kept on getting bigger and uglier until she wanted to hide under her bed like a terrified four-year-old. 

There was no sense in that, of course. He was a dream, and everyone knew that dreams couldn't hurt you. Especially not this horrible figment of her subconscious. Besides, with parents like hers who feared next to nothing, shouldn't she show a bit more mettle? 

Vera Lupin rolled over in her sleep, reaching out to slap the man and tell him off, but instead whacked her arm off of the bedpost, yelled, "Ouch!" and woke up on the floor with a mightily throbbing head. _How's that for mettle_, she thought grumpily. _Damned subconscious._

In a bed across the room, a boy her exact age stirred. "I told you," he muttered sleepily, "not to eat so much chocolate before bedtime. But do you listen to me? No."

"Be quiet," Vera grumbled, pulling herself back into bed. "If chocolate has anything to do with nightmares, it's a wonder I don't have nightmares every night."

"You _do_ have nightmares every night," Archer grumbled back. "But _I'm _the one who always wakes up_._"

"Oh, really. Buy a set of earplugs, or something."

"Good night, Vera."

Vera, who was not done her lecture (in fact, it had barely started) tried not to be put out. "Good _night_," she said (somewhat grouchily, as she had not tried very hard), and buried her face in her pillow once more.

*

"So are you free then?"

Clara looked up, somewhat startled, and idly wondered if she'd misheard or if James Potter had just asked her out on a date. "For what?" 

"For watching Harry tomorrow night when I have a conference in Romania. I'd send him to the Lupins," James said, looking apologetic, "but it's, uh, not a good time." Understatement: The full moon would be hanging low over the British Isle at the time. "And I don't want to overburden Molly- the twins are home from Hogwarts for a week…"

__

Wow. I have a really_ overactive imagination. Maybe I should get a life._ "Of course," Clara said, trying to cover her shock at herself. "Er- what time do you need me, then?"

"Oh, around five," James answered, "but I'll be late. You can just stay the night, if you'd like. Work in the morning, and everything." He grimaced. 

Clara nodded. "I'll be there," and he left, leaving her to ponder why, after that short exchange, she was feeling somewhat disappointed.

*

_As my soul heals the shame_

I will grow through this pain

Lord I'm doing all I can

To be a better man

- Robbie Williams, _Better Man_

*


	7. Specters and Promises Kept

Road of Life

-7-

lone astronomer

Disclaimer: Property of J. K. Rowling and associates. No infringement is intended and no profit is being made. Oh yes, and The Green Mile is Stephen King's.

Note: A lot of this is in first person format (James). Of course, he is different from his own point of view than from an omniscient one. And, he thinks he's funny. My apologies for that.

Rating: I don't think it's that intense, so a very strong PG-13. Lots of innuendo, though.

The Song That Inspired RoL6: Billy Joel's _Pianoman_, especially: '…_"Son, can you play me a melody?/I'm not really sure how it goes/But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete/When I wore a younger man's clothes."…And the waitress is practicing politics/As the businessman slowly gets stoned/Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness/But it's better than drinking alone…the manager gives me a smile/'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see/to forget about life for a while./And the piano sounds like a carnival/And the microphone smells like a beer/And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar, and say,/"Man, what are you doing here?" '_

*7 A - Past Specters *

Meetings, I thought to myself dully, are incredibly boring. 

I was actually supposed to be a mediator in a dispute that had broken out between rival companies- the both of them claimed to have invented some far-fetched magical item or another first, and thus the right to the patent. The trouble was, the patents had been filed the exact same day, so nobody knew who was telling the truth. 

Of course, to anyone with a little sense, two things were painfully obvious. The first was a spy in one of the companies, and the other was that everyone knew shoes that danced for you were incredibly dangerous to your health. Not to mention to the health of your dancing partner's feet. 

I stifled a yawn and pretended to listen to the next arguments of the heated debates. There were many places I would have rather been, home in bed being rather high on the list. I hadn't had a good night's rest in nearly a week, the aftermath of some horrible subconscious revelation that I wasn't ready to fully admit yet. At that time, anywhere sleeping was a good option. I looked longingly at my watch. Ten minutes, I told myself. Ten more minutes and you can go home…

*

__

When I find myself in times of trouble,

Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom:

Let it be

*

"Harry," I said, once the soot from the Floo network was mostly gone from his face, "I've got a late meeting tomorrow. How would you like it if Clara came to watch you?" I hoped he wouldn't mind. I mean, I really hoped he wouldn't mind. The poor kid had it bad enough with my being gone all the time; he didn't need someone he thought of as a wench watching him day and night. Although, I probably would've had to ground him if he'd so much as insinuated that Clara was a wench.

Harry's painfully green eyes lit right up with an inner smile. "Yeah! Clara's the coolest. She taught me how to play poker."

I felt my eyes widen. "She what?"

"Oops."

I had to turn away from him so that he wouldn't see the wry grin- very Prongs, a character I missed but couldn't let show- that had plastered itself on my face. _Some women_. Aloud I said, "Well, everyone's got to have their fun, I suppose." Although this, as a rule, excepted me, because I never got to have any fun. It was always the nine-year-olds who got to stay home with the baby-sitter and play poker until she put them to bed. 

__

Damn, I thought to myself, somewhere between amused and disgusted. _I sound bitter._

*

__

And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom:

Let it be

*

The door to the Weasley residence swung open on its hinges, admitting five boys at different stages of adolescence. The two youngest were obviously twins- identical down to the last freckle and proud of it. I knew, because I'd met them before. Slightly taller was a thin boy with his nose stuck dangerously high in the air. He had the feel of someone who was so far above his younger brothers that he couldn't be bothered with them. I must say, I know the type. Taller still- just slightly- was a somewhat stockier boy with brilliant blue eyes. There was a large red C embroidered on his shirt. The last through the door- and so tall that he almost had to duck, although he couldn't have been more than seventeen- was a boy (more man than boy, really) with the characteristic Weasley hair, probably a bit too long for his mother's liking, if I knew Molly. 

"Hullo," blue-eyes greeted. "Is there something I can help you with?"

I stood and proffered a hand to the first of them. "James Potter." If they thought I'd ever start adding 'Minister of Magic; Order of Merlin, Third Class' to my name or signature, they were out of their bloody minds.

The reactions on the boys' faces were priceless. I knew their names from Molly's photographs, and from numerous stories, and it was a lot easier to assign personalities once I'd actually met them. Fred and George, who had probably heard legends of Prongs Potter left floating around Hogwarts, exchanged identical looks of awe. I mean, that's the way they are, too; always looking for a new way to cause mischief. Honorary Marauders, Padfoot and I call them. Percy was another story- he just wanted to meet the Minister of Magic personality the stiffs thought I was. Charlie (who, Molly told me, was Captain of the Quidditch team) looked like he was about to grill me on the match against Slytherin in '82, but Bill looked a bit unsure. I liked that- no expectations. He shook my hand. "Bill Weasley. These are my brothers- I think you've met Fred and George; and Percy," he nodded in his brother's direction, "and that's Charlie," to the one with the blue eyes. "Nice to meet you, sir."

I was shocked. A seventeen-year-old had called me 'sir.' I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor. I felt a lot older, all of a sudden. "Likewise. Your mother wouldn't happen to be home, would she?"

Charlie nodded. "She's in the yard, tending the Everblooming Lilacs."

"Thanks," I said, and took the path out to the garden. It wasn't really funny, but my friend Molly was turning into something like a Dear Anne column for me. 

*

__

And when the broken-hearted people, living in a world of greed

There will be an answer:

Let it be

(Beatles; Let it Be)

*

The Watch Clock chimed at the appointed time, I yelled, "Patefacio!" and, very dramatically, thunder crashed and the door swung open, nearly falling off his hinges. 

Clara regarded me curiously. She was curious a lot, when I thought about it. Which was often.

"Sorry," I said, feeling a little sheepish. "Harry must've been fiddling with the ward settings again." Harry just gets into those things; there's no stopping him. Even if you could, the excess magic in his system would probably blow something up.

Her expression changed from quizzical to amused. "You let Harry play with the ward settings?"

I wrinkled my nose, recalling the past few incidents that involved Harry and 'accidental' magic experiments. "'Let' is not the word I would choose." 

Clara laughed. "Where is the little fiend? He's usually right here to- oof." Harry, no doubt having heard the sound effects the Patefacio wards had let off, had hurled himself out of his bedroom and into Clara's midsection. "Hello, Harry," she said affectionately, ruffling his hair. I very much envied Harry's position right then, but I wasn't going to say anything. I mean I didn't want to scare the kid.

Harry tried, unsuccessfully, to duck under Clara's arm, but she held him fast- that's my girl. "Aw, Clara. You're messing up my hair. Which it _doesn't_ need, by the way."

__

Poor kid. He's got no mum, his dad's in love with his babysitter, and on top of it all, he's inherited my hair. Actually, when I put it that way, it was almost funny. Except the no-mum, in-love-with-the-babysitter part, of course. "That would be my fault. Sorry, Harry."

Clara turned around and shot me a look. "Don't you dare apologize for that!" She ran her fingers through Harry's hair again. Was I jealous! "It's cute."

Well, that I could deal with. After all, Harry and I have pretty much the same hair, good days and bad. I grinned, knowing I was probably being insufferable. "Thanks."

Clara smacked me playfully on the shoulder, but I thought I saw a slight flush on her face. Of course, I could have imagined it. I did quite a bit of imagining about Clara, in fact, which was probably inappropriate, seeing as she worked for me and everything. Not that I cared. "You obnoxious git," she kidded - at least I hoped she was joking. "Go to your meeting! Off with you!"

I pouted. I wasn't in the most mature mood at the moment. Usually I have to get that out of my system before meetings, or else someone gets frustrated with me and throws a fit. "Ooh. Cruel and unusual punishment."

Harry was giving me a funny look. I figured I should cut out the innuendo before I did something really dumb, like ask Clara if she was going to spank me. "I'd better go. Eight-thirty's bedtime," I told her, as if she didn't know. Mostly it was so that Harry wouldn't cajole her into letting him stay up later. Don't get me wrong; he's a good kid. He's just a bit of a night owl. 

"So you've mentioned," Clara said dryly. 

"And don't eat too many sweets." Boy, I wasn't doing much for my rogue image then, I can tell you.

"Yes, mum."

I scowled at Clara, knowing it looked insincere. I never could be too irritated when she was around. Sometimes _that_ irritated me, in fact. 

I still don't know what possessed me to do it, but I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be back around two." I left before I could embarrass myself further.

*

__

…'Cause a bottle of vodka still lies in my hand

Some blond gave me nightmares; I think that she's still in my bed

As I dream about movies they won't make of me when I'm dead

*

Harry could do nothing but watch with a funny sort of smile on his face as Clara rubbed her cheek unconsciously. It was their eighth poker hand and she was losing badly, obviously not concentrating at all. It was sort of pathetic. 

"I fold," Clara said, tossing her cards on the table. 

She took out her wand and magicked herself a cup of tea. Harry glanced over at the cards she'd been holding- three aces. He almost laughed to himself. She must have been pretty distracted. 

Clara sipped her tea and continued looking oblivious to the world. Had Harry been a less perceptive nine-year-old, he might've been a bit worried. As it was, however, he found the situation struck him as somewhat humorous. _Adults are so clueless. She doesn't even realize that I know she's not paying any attention to anything._ "Clara?" he said. There was no response. Clara was staring at her tea like it held the answers to the universe's most difficult problems. "Clara? I'm going to bed."

"Hmm," came the response. 

__

Not like I expected anything else. "Have fun trying to sleep," Harry said cheerfully, and wandered off to his room to have a nice long chat with Morgana.

Generally, people didn't talk to pictures. This rule excepted, of course, mental cases and those missing someone dearly, but other than that it just didn't happen often. Then again, if most people saw a moving picture inside a frame, no cords attached anywhere, and the picture appeared to be sentient, they probably would have run screaming from the building. Harry was not to be categorized like most people, however; for him it was quite natural to carry on a conversation with a portrait.

"Dad _kissed_ her?" Morgana said. 

Harry nodded. "Only on the cheek; but it's better than nothing."

Morgana's two-dimensional body was doubled over, her knees pulled up to her chest. "Our dad's a loser," she said morosely. "He should get himself together."

"Morgana!" Harry chided. "I mean I didn't even know about Mum 'til last year- give the man a break; he needs time to get over things."

"Didn't Clara's husband just die a while back?" she asked him, attempting to contemplate the potential relationship from both sides. It always came back to the same thing. "I thought James'd give her some time to get over _that_…"

Harry gave a shrug. "It's been almost a year." He watched Morgana think a moment longer, then snuffed out the candle. "Something's going to happen," he said. "That's all I can tell you right now."

*

__

…I wake up and French-kiss the morning

And some marching band keeps its own beat in my head

While we're talking

About all of the things that I long to believe about love

The truth, what you mean to me

And the truth is

Baby, you're all that I need

*

The door to Harry's room clicked shut for the final time, and Clara found herself slumped over the table in relief. It wasn't so much that she wanted to be left alone with her thoughts as it was that she didn't want him to worry about her slightly erratic behavior. Harry was a good poker player, but he wasn't _that_ good. 

She took another sip of her tea and Summoned the Muggle novel she'd brought with her- The Green Mile. It was involving, if not a tad disturbing. Clara moved over to the sofa and curled up to read the last few chapters.

She soon had to put the book down. Her current state of mind was ruining the book- she couldn't concentrate on the page, let alone on the words upon it. Clara's mind wandered once again back to James, and unsurprisingly she continued to ask herself the same questions she'd been asking it for nearly three hours. She was also answering herself, which was not the smartest thing to do, she realized, because who could predict James Potter, after all? _It _didn't_ mean anything_, she told herself again. _He was just being friendly._ Clara wondered why that hurt so much. 

__

I don't want to be more than friends, she told herself firmly. _I've hurt quite enough … Tom is gone. He's not coming back. I couldn't lose James, too. _Clara had to content herself with that answer because, she even admitted to herself, she had no other. 

It was barely ten o'clock when Clara pulled herself into bed that night, yet she was exhausted mentally. Her brain didn't want to function properly at all, and the same 'why' questions kept swirling around in her head. There was also the underlying current of betrayal that her conscience was ever so helpfully administering upon her. Clara sighed. It took her a very long time to get to sleep.

__

The awareness- of the dream, that was- grew around her, a darkness closing in on a light at the end of a tunnel. She knew, even as she dreamed, that she must be someplace Tween, because what was a dream, after all, if not a place between sleep and blissful unconsciousness? 

Vines grew sinuous around her as she watched and held her into place. Some of them had thorns, a few had even sprouted a twisted kind of rosebud. She realized that she was standing in a stream; the water was dark and too cold and too hot and everything that she'd ever thought anything could be. The light dimmed further. Tween seemed very beautiful, in a terrible sort of way.

The man she had been married to appeared, as she had known he would. Tom's eyebrows were slightly singed and he was dressed all in pale blue, carrying a book under one arm- 'Aetus Clara.' He had wings. He was also somewhat larger than life, a good head taller than he had actually been. It took Clara's unconsciousness a moment to realize that he was actually floating before her. 

"Watch," Tom commanded, and opened the book.

Clara wanted to say no, that she did not want to see, but could not. A vine tightened around her ankle and its thorns pierced her skin, making her cry out.

Tom flipped to the last page in the book- a sketch, quite realistic, of Clara sobbing beside a tombstone that was clearly marked as his. 

Dream-Clara looked up to his eyes. "I don't understand."

He nodded. "If you understood, you would not be here." Tom motioned to the book, stroking his fingers over and through the picture. "The book shows your life. Aetus Clara. Without a book, there is no life; without life there is no story."

"If this is my life, why then does the last page show that?"

Tom shut the book. "You disappoint us. I died, but you were given life. Yet you have not lived."

"I am alive," Dream-Clara heard herself say. "One doesn't dream when one's dead."

"You are alive," Tom repeated. "You are not living."

"I don't understand," Clara said again. "How can I be alive but not living? Please, tell me. I don't understand."

Tom nodded, as if he had expected this. "You aren't meant to understand. As yet you cannot comprehend such things."

"I don't understand," she repeated.

Tom, fading now, had time only for one more whisper. "You will."

"Don't leave!" Clara yelled, straining against the thorns. Madness raced through her veins, the very blood that sustained her life. Her sense of what was Tween and what was reality was slipping. "Don't again! Alone! Not again!" Yet the thorns still tore, the vines held fast, and Tom continued to fade, as did the rest of the light. "No," she sobbed, quite aware that she was no longer dreaming. "Don't leave me all alone."

A dream-voice seemed to whisper, "You will never be alone again."

*

It was very late, two-thirty or so, by the time James Apparated through the wards again. It was a chilly autumn night, or morning, depending on how you looked at it. And James was incredibly tired. He hadn't realized how much work being Minister of Magic was until he'd taken on the job.

A mysterious air hung around the Potter residence that night- it was heavy with magic and thick with tension and taut with apprehension. James could almost hear elfin voices calling to him, guiding him, but he classified it as typical for that time of the year. It was the night before Halloween, and the spirits were restless. He didn't blame them. All Hallows was two days away, and the limbo between the living and the dead was at a low for the year. 

James knew a lot about dead people, or perhaps a lot _of_ them.

He passed by Harry's room and peeked in- the boy was fast asleep, his arm curled around his pillow, and facing that odd portrait of the red-haired girl he'd claimed to have gotten from a yardsale. James thought it very fitting how young the Boy Who Lived looked while sleeping. His eyes lent him a lot of years when they were open.

A noise from the next room over startled him out of his reverie. Quietly, James shut the door again and tiptoed quickly down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

Poking his head through the doorway, he heard but a few broken words and then a cache of choked sobs. Then a whisper, "Don't leave me all alone."

That settled it, for James had always been the hero. He closed the door behind him and went forward slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness and the Tween magic that was the atmosphere. 

The light from the near-full moon coming in through the window cast a silvery glow on the old four-poster. Everything, in fact, was bathed in the celestial glow or else thrown deep into shadow. And there was Clara, on the bed, weeping.

James closed his eyes. He didn't know if she'd heard him come in, or if she would want him to intrude. "You will never be alone again," he whispered quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Clara sat bolt upright in bed and turned to face him, wiping tears from her face. "James," she said, flopping back down onto the pillows and burying her face. "You scared me."

"Likewise," he answered gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What happened?"

She shook her head imperceptibly, still not looking at him. "Just a nightmare."

James let out a sigh and removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. He set the glasses on the nightstand. "You don't cry after every normal nightmare, Clara," he said softly, laying his head on the pillow beside hers. From the shadows, he caught glimpses of wetness. Heart aching in silent sympathy, he kissed away the remaining tears. "Please tell me what happened."

Clara echoed his sigh. "I've just been given a rather rude wake-up call," she confessed, "about wasting my life." James waited for a further explanation and, after a slight pause, she gave it. "I am alive, and yet I am not living."

James closed his eyes and nodded. "Sounds familiar."

"You got the same message?"

"Five years ago to the day." James waited a moment. "Tom?" he asked quietly.

Clara nodded, her head now pressed against his chest as the tears threatened to leak anew. "Lily?"

"Yes." Another pause, much longer this time. "Are you very afraid?" he barely whispered as the Tween blew a draft over their heads.

"Less so now than before. James?"

"Hmm?" Sleep tugged at his tired mind.

"Promise me that you'll never leave me."

James' eyes snapped open and stared into hers. "I," he said firmly, "will never leave you."

Blissfully, dreamlessly, they slept.

*

__

I want to lay you down on a bed of roses

For tonight, I sleep on a bed of nails

I want to be just as close as

The Holy Ghost is

And lay you down

On a bed of roses

(Bed of Roses, Jon Bon Jovi)

*

* 7 B - Something to Talk About *

One alarm clock rang at the Potters' house the following morning, and it was much too far from James and Clara to bother them. This alarm clock was in Harry Potter's bedroom, as it was his, after all. At seven o'clock it rang, or rather began jumping on Harry's stomach and doing cartwheels off of the walls.

Harry opened his eyes right off and reached for his glasses, pulled on some fresh Muggle clothes, and made himself breakfast, all while keeping an eye out for any sign of other life in the house. There was none.

Until, that is, Sirius Black Apparated in.

"Hullo, Harry," Sirius said by way of greeting. "Where's your father? He's late for the conference…"

Harry, blessedly innocent child that he was, only shrugged. "Dunno. Must be having a lay-in." Above all, he hoped Sirius wouldn't check the guest bedroom. 

Sirius frowned. James had always been an early riser. "Unlike him," he said, "but I guess he deserves it. I'll get him."

"No!" Harry said, jumping up rather suddenly. "I mean, no. I'll wake him."

"Nonsense," Sirius said, "the less time I have to spend at that meeting, the better. If you get him, I have to go back." He started back towards the bedrooms. 

__

Oh. This is bad. "Scheisse," Harry muttered into his arms, resigned to waiting until he heard Sirius' own cussing.

Sirius rapped sharply on James' bedroom door for about three seconds before opening it all the way. A puzzled look crossed his face as he noted the bed, unslept in, and the lack of James anywhere. _Now where's he gone off to?_ Sirius wondered.

He started wondering if James had never come home from his meeting in Germany at all, but dismissed that. James was too responsible. _Harry would know by now if that was the case… wouldn't he?_

Which was when Sirius heard breathing coming from the guest bedroom. Confused, he opened the door and peeked in.

What he saw made his jaw drop to somewhere around his knees. There was James, all right, snuggled up close next to Clara. Her face was buried in his robes (which he'd apparently taken to sleeping in, Sirius noted curiously underneath all of the other emotions he felt) and both of them looked a lot more peaceful than he'd seen either in the past year. All of this was very disturbing.

And then there came the anger. What right had James, setting such an example for Harry? Betraying Lily's memory- Sirius wasn't over her death; how could James possibly be? How could he even think-

Fuming, Sirius cursed under his breath, closed the door, and Disapparated without bidding Harry goodbye.

The Boy Who Lived sighed over his cereal and got a quill and parchment from near the owl's cage.

__

Dear Dad, he wrote,

__

Uncle Sirius came by this morning…

*

James awoke feeling better rested than he had in years, which was unusual in itself as he hadn't even changed before bed. Something smelled of rain and apple blossoms and a new spring day. It was a very appealing scent and he breathed it in deeply. It seemed to refresh his soul.

James also noticed that he was not alone. That was new, but not entirely unpleasant, either. He knew who she was without opening his eyes, for he had long imagined what Clara would feel like in his arms. She was tiny and soft, yet her body had a sort of strength to it that a person could take refuge in, that could protect from harsh reality.

Cautiously, James opened his eyes and disentangled one long arm from around Clara's midsection to retrieve his glasses from behind him. Once the arm was free, however, James discovered that it had no desire or intention to leave Clara's body and that, in fact, he had no desire for it to do that, either. Instead, he stroked her hair absently, pondering the magic that had meddled in his life the night before. Not that he was ungrateful.

Clara awoke much the same way he had. "Good morning," James whispered cheerfully.

"Are you sure?" Clara replied, stretching a bit. (James was disappointed, because this meant that he had to move his arms from around her.)

"No, actually," James answered, and found, upon checking his watch, "It's still morning. Actually, it's nine thirty."

"Oh," Clara said. She then added, in true secretary style, "We're late for work."

"Don't worry," James said cheerfully, "I'm giving you the day off."

"And who gave you the day off?"

"I did." Since the embrace was broken anyway, James reached for his glasses and found them, along with a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. His eyebrows knitted together.

"What is it?" Clara asked, peering over his shoulder.

James rubbed his temple. "A note from Harry."

__

Dear Dad and Aunt Clara, too (can I call you that?),

Uncle Sirius stopped by this morning to get you, Dad, because you're late for work. I told him I'd get you up but he wanted to stay out of the meeting so he insisted that he should get you. I really did try to stop him! But you know what he's like.

Anyway, he left about three seconds after he found you. He was really mad. He kept on swearing. Did you know that Uncle Sirius can swear in German? Did you_ teach him that? _I_ didn't._

Don't worry about me. I went to school anyway, took the Floo to the Weasleys' and walked. You owe me for that, by the way. Technically I could have had a lay-in, but you had_ to buy me that alarm clock. Thanks a lot. _

I'll be at the Ron's till around three. Just don't hold me to that. Take a day off, why don't you? J

Love,

Harry.

"It would seem that Sirius is upset with you," Clara observed.

"Sirius is always mad about something," James said, shaking his head. "There's no pleasing him, honestly. He'll get over it. He doesn't even know what happened. Or didn't happen," he added after a moment.

Clara sighed. "Even Harry knows we work too much."

"Harry knows if anyone does," James agreed. "Which leaves the question- what are we going to do with our day off?"

Clara gave him a mischievous grin. "Oh, I've got a few ideas."

"Really?" James asked lightly. "Because Sirius has already seen us together, so we might as well give him something to rave about…"

She smiled a little and lifted her chin to accept his kiss, cutting it short to say, "Right. That has my vote, too." He kissed her again, and this time there was no escape with simple words but with the need for oxygen. "Someone's in a good mood this morning," Clara commented, tousling James' hair with one hand and noticing then that the top three buttons of her sleeping shirt were undone. She felt something pressing into her lower stomach and raised an eyebrow. "A _very_ good mood," she corrected herself good-naturedly

James grinned and kissed her again; Sirius and Harry were forgotten.

*

__

People are talking, talking 'bout people

I hear them whisper, you wouldn't believe it

They think we're lovers, kept under covers

I just ignore it, but they just keep saying

We laugh a little too loud, we stand a little too close

We stare just a little too long, maybe they're seeing something we don't

Let's give them something to talk about

(Bonnie Raitt)

*

Sirius Apparated back to the Ministry with a dark look and fifty curses under his breath. He sat through the entire conference without saying a word, which, aside from being extremely out-of-character for him, put off half the other employees, who were used to his rants. 

Remus pulled him aside afterwards. "Where's James?" he asked.

Sirius scowled. "He's at home."

Remus also felt a tinge of anger, though nothing that merited Sirius' foul mood. "What's he doing there? We really needed him on this one. He has final say on this, after all."

"What is he doing there!" Sirius repeated, his voice growing louder. Remus was glad that his office was soundproof. "What is he doing there, indeed! He is in bed with his secretary, Remus!"

Remus was even gladder that his office was soundproof than he'd been a moment ago. "Oh," he said finally. "I suppose I ought to tell Allya."

Sirius glowered. "She knew about this?" he growled.

Remus gave Sirius a skeptical look. "Don't tell me _you_ never noticed. It's about bloody time, that's what it is."

Sirius' mouth dropped open. "Surely you're not- you're _happy_ about this!"

"What's not to be glad about? It's about time James got on with his life. He deserves to be happy. And it is not my place to interfere, nor yours."

Sirius left the office unusually early that day, wondering if he would have to eat his words.

*

Allya's grin at Vera's latest antics grew wider when she saw Remus' expression. He had just Apparated home, and she had known him long enough to know that something very interesting had gone on at the Ministry that day.

They embraced, ignoring the noises the twins were making ("Gross! She let him put his tongue in her _mouth_!"- typical Archer), and when they broke apart, Ally grinned. "Is Sirius pissed?"

Remus laughed. "You should have _seen_ the look on his face- honestly, he ought to grow up."

"Sirius?" Allya looked incredulous. "Never."

"Can't live with him, can't live without him."

"And abracadabra to that."

*

One sneezed. 

The other launched into a bout of somewhat muffled laughter. 

James sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Hey," he said, surveying the room. "What gives?"

Clara, too, was astounded. "What is it?" A half-centimeter thick layer of something sparkly covered, well, everything. 

James picked some up and let it sift through his fingers. The dust made a ringing sound as it slipped back to the bedcover. "I have no idea." He picked up another pinch and blew on it gently. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a hundred of the most brightly colored butterflies appeared, fleeing James' direction. They lingered for a moment on Clara- in her hair, on her outstretched hand and on her bare shoulders- before disappearing completely. "Fairy dust," she whispered, amazed.

James tossed another handful at her. This time, Clara ended up sprinkled with a thin layer of snow. James smirked. "Get frostbite much?"

Clara's scoop of dust hit him in the midsection and turned to honey. James didn't look to terribly amused by this. He flung some more of the stuff at her, but she dodged and rubbed some into his hair- it was feathers, this time, and once James got them out of his hair they stuck to the honey-spot on his stomach. Clara tried very hard not to laugh, but it didn't work. She flopped back down onto the pillows and threw a handful of fairy dust- green Jell-O- over the side of the bed. "We should bottle this stuff," she said, grinning despite herself.

"It's probably illegal," James said morosely. 

"I won't tell if you won't."

He grinned. "That's the spirit!" 

They lay there catching their breath for a few moments. 

Finally, James spoke again. "Listen, about last night-"

Clara sat up and gave him a look. "If you apologize now, I _will_ kill you." She sighed and bit her lip distractedly. "James, what I asked you- I mean, I wasn't exactly _lucid_…"

"Now who's apologizing?" James shook his head. "I promised I'd never leave you, and I meant it. Unless you really don't want me around, you're stuck with me."

"I guess I'm stuck, then." 

Another blank pause, then, "Are you hungry?"

"Like you wouldn't even _believe_. What time is it?"

James checked his watch. "Twelve thirty."

"That would explain it. It's breakfast time. But you might want to take a shower before we eat. You look like you've been tarred and feathered," Clara teased.

"I've been dusted, that's what."

*

"Hey Dad," Harry called cheerfully from the fireplace, wiping the soot from his glasses a few months later. "Did I miss Uncle Sirius and Ron?" After an incident involving a very angry Molly and a nearly-as-angry Harry, Sirius had come around quickly. He wasn't one-hundred-percent behind his friend's decisions, but he understood and respected them as well as Clara.

James looked up from a mountainous stack of parchment. "Yeah," he answered. "Ron left you some Mad Muggle comics- I can't seem to find them right now under the mess of other things I have to…"

"Over there, Harry," Clara said, pointing at the living room table without so much as a sideways glance. She was fully absorbed with the quill she held. "Did you get the documents I asked you for?"

Harry, who, along with Ron, Ginny and Sirius and a few others, had been reduced to playing gopher for James and Clara, stacked another pile of parchment beside the first. "Yes. Can I _please_ go to the Weasleys' now? Ron said that when he got back with Sirius, Mrs. Weasley would bake cookies." He hadn't exactly been thrilled when he'd been told he had to be fit for new dress robes. He'd been less thrilled when, directly after the fitting, he'd had to go on even more errands while everyone else got to go home.

"Go ahead," James answered, signing something with a flourish. "It'll give you something to do…"

Harry was already gone.

"Who would've thought getting married a second time would be this much hassle," Clara commented, reviewing the guest list yet again. "Have we got any more owls?"

James snorted. "Remus and Allya sent an owl- they'll take care of Harry for the first few days, then he can go to Molly's; and Arthur wants to know if we need the flying car for a fast getaway afterwards, since you can't Apparate from a wedding. Bad luck, and all of that."

Clara laughed. "Does Molly know about that?"

"Luckily for Arthur, she does not."

Meanwhile, at the Burrow…

"That's it, Harry, now turn around," Molly encouraged, waving her cookie in a circle to demonstrate. 

Harry tried his hardest not to scowl. It wouldn't help anyone's mood any. 

Arthur Weasley snapped yet another photograph. Harry didn't know it, but once it was developed, it would show him and Ginny trying desperately to escape. 

For the first time, Harry was beginning to regret the fact that his father was getting married again. Though he didn't originally mind being in the wedding, things were getting out of hand. New robes for everyone, and running errands, and would the Boy Who Lived please smile for the camera? Ginny, whom Clara had asked to be flower girl, hadn't expected the attention either. She gave him a pleading glance. _I agree; this is madness. Let's get out of here_.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, trying one last time, "Wouldn't it be wise to save some film for tomorrow?" 

"Nonsense, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "We have more than enough. Now, Ginny, a little to the left…"

Ginny sighed unhappily, but did as she was told. Harry found himself counting down the seconds until five-thirty, when he had to run yet another errand.

*

The wedding went off without a hitch, except perhaps more than the expected amount of tears from Mrs. Weasley or the fact that Ginny had nearly tripped while walking down the aisle. Harry had seen it and caught her by the arm before she embarrassed herself further, and almost nobody had noticed anyway- it was then that Clara had first appeared through the walkway into the garden. 

The reception, although very short, was equally beautiful, and had ended with six children- Harry, Vera, Sierra, Archer, Ginny and Ron- asleep in one corner of the hall. (Luckily, Mr. Weasley had a few pictures left in the camera.) Here, too, came a disappointing announcement; Sirius and Mioré were taking their daughter and leaving for Scotland to be with her father in the years before he died. James, whose parents were long dead, understood this, and they had his blessing.

What astounded James and Clara most, however, was the beautiful card signed by all the children. It was written in Charlie's flawless penmanship in silver ink on watery blue paper, and gave them both pause. The words would remain in their hearts, echoing in the difficult years to come.

Happily Ever After?

The Beginning…

__

The Rain

Puddles on a dirty street

Water, salt, and my cheeks meet

Bright umbrella and a crowded awning

When comes the rain

Raindrops fall on frosted glass

Each one merging with the last

I can't reconcile with my own past

When comes the rain

Teardrops are a faded sign

Perfect, forgotten love of mine

To long for a touch that is divine

When comes the rain

Water cannot tell the tale

To love again is not to fail

Not unfaithful, only frail

When comes the rain

Love for another: to decide

When old friends by the first one side

But to be alone I can't abide

When comes the rain

Puddles on the road of life

Raindrops wash away my strife

Love heals cuts from deepest knife

And nevermore to rain

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